


Under the Heat of the Gun

by LibertyKingdom



Category: Miami Vice (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibertyKingdom/pseuds/LibertyKingdom
Summary: Tubbs comes face to face with a gunman. Will she become the victim of friendly fire?(This was written 4 years ago.)
Relationships: Crockett x Tubbs, Crockett x female Tubbs, Sonny Crockett x Ricki Tubbs





	Under the Heat of the Gun

A familiar “click” broke over the sound of crashing waves, the guttural groans, and burps of bilge pumps, and the occasional rush of far off cars. She’d know that noise anywhere, even in the pitch-black of a deep and moonless night. That same audible decimal pierced the air just seconds before the thunderous pop that caused her brother to fall, wounded and bloodied to the hardwood of the New York City docks, the night a drug deal went south. The non-melodious noise was unfortunately common to hear when working as a cop. It was the loud crack of a gun being cocked and primed for use. The first step of two, before a wallowing boom mixed with fiery lead, could emerge from the heated barrel, at the pull of the trigger.

Ricki swallowed sharply and her veins all seemed to glaze over with an icy frost. Her heart began thrashing violently against her rib-cages as she straightened her stance. The police detective couldn’t help but feel sick to her stomach. Was this going to be her final move? There were so many things Ricki had left unsaid, undone, and unresolved. It was funny, now, to think that they would all come to mind in an emotionally fragmented kaleidoscope. Was this how Raphael felt as he laid dying in her arms? Is this how every man felt when he knew death could be swooping in to claim their soul at any moment, like a vulture zeroing in on its prey? She couldn’t help but wonder.

Slender fingers and hands, which had been rifling through a sea of endless paper-work just seconds before, slowly lifted into a gesture of surrender. The papers slowly spilling to the floor with a delicate “shush”. It was as though, they too felt an unspoken sense of dread. But unlike Ricki, the papers were not afraid to make their shuddering breaths known. A ragged exhale hesitantly pushed free of her parted lips as she inched her way around to face the source of the untimely interruption. For a brief but very noticeable moment, the stinging smell of cigarette-smoke filled her nose, lungs, and throat.

The detective’s large brown eyes flickered upwards, half expecting to see armed bandits, the heavyweights which she and her partner were investigating, or even a criminal she had slighted or sent to the joint. To her surprise, the gun-wielding individual was her partner, Sonny Crockett. The pale light from the docks slowly etching and retreating across his handsome face and his golden-brown hair with every slow rocking motion the boat made. His gun catching the glow just enough to appear ten times more threatening than it had been when she only heard the preparations.

Ricki couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief combined with a twinge of terrified panic. For it felt as though, Crockett was giving off a vibe more commonly associated with brooding Burnett. His blue-green eyes seemed dark, steely, distant, and cold. To make matters worse, they happened to be fixated solely upon her as though, she were the last bleeding fish in a tank full of hungry sharks.

Ricki had noticed that kind of sardonic, fierce, and tight-lipped expression only when they were about to take down heavy players from the streets, when Sonny felt slighted, lied to, or even vengeful. It was the very same look Sonny had given her after she had stolen… well, more like borrowed, his scarab and led him on a wild chase the first night they met. It was the kind of pronouncement of menacing features that would put the fear of God into a scathing and devout Atheist.

Ricki tried to read his face, desperately scrambling to think of a reason for him to pull his gun on her. Being unable to consider any definite motive, her dark-brows furrowed in confusion upon her otherwise smooth forehead. “Sonny,” she called, her voice calm and honeyed. If the tone she used was any softer or more frightfully polite, it might have been mistaken for a fragile whispered utterance.

If the darker complexion of her skin could give away the fear that seized over her, she would have been the color of the pale moon-lit fog that frequented the shorelines in the depths of Miami’s winter. Perhaps, she would have also been as pale as, the fresh snow that falls from the grey and foreboding February skies over New York. There was an aura of uncertainty lingering so greatly within the air, that her usual confidence in her partner seemed to flicker, like a lone tossed flame of a candle battling to remain steadfast against a breeze.

“W…..wha….what….ever…. this is, w….we…we… can talk this out, man….” Ricki quickly stammered in a somewhat braver tone. Her confidence wavering slightly with every moment as she made her petition and entreaty. A trembling hand stretched out in his direction as if, she was going to grab the gun by the barrel. Swallowing thickly, the female police detective realized that was exactly what she impulsively intended to do. Suddenly, Ricki froze.

Would he shoot her? That answer depended. Were the criminals they were investigating watching them at this very moment? Was he now acting as Burnett attempting to take down Cooper, to gain the trust of some street punk? Was he acting as her partner? Had Sonny abruptly turned on her? Or was this far more personal? Perhaps, he’d been startled by her unannounced presence? Her eyes studied his, praying that she’d find an answer within their twinkling surfaces.

“Come on, Sonny. You’re my partner, won’t you tell me what this is all about?” She prompted, keeping her voice as even and low as possible. Her brown eyes sweeping over every inch of his muscular figure and then over both of her shoulders, for any indication or sign that would tell her what was about to go down. The two of them had been through too much together, for her to go down without giving things a fighting chance. Or without her attempting to make amending reparations for what ever it is that had upset him.


End file.
